Parts of our Sum
by vanceypants
Summary: "Tad stared at him like Christmas morning, though perhaps neither of them had enjoyed the sort of childhood which lent itself to childhood whimsy." TadGord, transgender Tad, smut.


_AN: This is TadGord. It's smut. Tad is transgender. There's really not a whole lot to say. There's oral sex. I don't know. I just love these two a lot, and I've gotten to a point where I can't separate my 'transgender Tad' headcanon from canon. Hope you enjoy._

The problem was, Tad cared an awful lot. About everything. So much of the Spencer boy was flawed and broken, but his emotional and empathic capacities were not one of them. It wasn't that Gord would necessarily call him tenderhearted-

But he would. He absolutely would. That was precisely the term to use for a boy who crumbled at the corpses of small animals scattered about their miserable town, whose lip wobbled at their crumpled wings and shattered bones. A boy who had an endless capacity for understanding and pity and sorrow for the plights of his friends.

Never mind he held none back for himself, always a quip at his own misfortune. Always so eager to play punch line. The wealthy didn't become the way they were by ignoring value. And laughter was infinitely cheaper than tears to offer one's misery.

Not that Tad laughed often anyway.

And certainly, Gord wouldn't deny that Tad could often be cold. Blunt. Cutting. Had a manner of holding his expression that dissuaded small talk. Flaunted his family's status as a means of keeping himself isolated.

Maybe to keep from slicing any more of himself into portions for the few he cared for.

Gord gave out affection like it was cheap and novel. Passed his body without giving much if his mind, and certainly none of his emotions.

He was kinder to a larger population than Tad. But he wasn't as thorough with those he extended pleasantries.

And he certainly wasn't as painfully sensitive as Tad, despite somehow also being less apathetic. It was a bizarre dichotomy, and though it fascinated Gord, it also worried him more than he'd ever been raised to express.

Tad stared at him like Christmas morning, though perhaps neither of them had enjoyed the sort of childhood which lended itself to nostalgic whimsy. He blinked, and not for the first time, Gord marveled at his eyelashes, then the shade of his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks. He couldn't understand how anyone could look at that reflection everyday without being struck with gratitude for possessing such precise features. Gord sucked in his stomach, still covered in his top, and wished he could scoop the extra material from his face to mirror the angles of the other.

Tad looked away, a downturn, his fingers fumbling with his shirt. "I'm not, ah…you probably won't…I hope you aren't terribly disappointed."

Gord collected his cheek in one hand. "Why would you say that?"

"Because I'm, you know…"

"Practically virginal? Yes, darling, I'm well aware." Sometimes, it was best to feign ignorance.

Tad's cheeks puffed, all the more exaggerated with one of Gord's hands squishing his cheek. "I am not!"

"You've only had, what, one? Two partners at best."

"Three, thank you very much."

"My! Sounds like we have a young stag on our hands. You are a tried and true harlot."

"Oh, shut up. And that's not-"

And sometimes, it was best not to say anything at all.

Tad's breath was sharp with mint. Gord smiled, remembering how he'd dashed to the restroom earlier. Had he honestly gone to brush his teeth? Perhaps it wasn't the right thing to notice first.

Tad fumbled and shifted, trying even in this mutual act to find compromise, to make himself small and pliant. Gord wouldn't allow him to shrink away, biting his lip, then falling back, softer. He brushed his tongue over Tad's lips. Tads own tongue felt flighty and frantic, fumbling cluelessly about Gord's. He couldn't quite understand why, when they'd kissed so much smoother before. He placed a palm against Tad's chest, felt his pulse rattle against him, and not for the first time, promised himself great harm should he do anything to make things harder on Tad.

"You're okay," Gord panted. He kissed his jawline, outlined his edges into memory. Tad's breath hitched as Gord brushed his tongue over his earlobe. "You're okay. You're safe." It wasn't the sort of bedroom talk Gord was accustomed to delivering.

But this wasn't the sort of coupling Gord was accustomed to indulging. And though he'd known Tad for years, Tad certainly wasn't the type of boy Gord had ever had much reason to pay this sort of attention to before.

Change, really, was something they both needed.

"I know. Christ, Gord, you act as though I'm some timid bunny or something."

"More like a kitten. Or a baby bird."

"More like a frog with my feet."

"I told you earlier. I will not allow any of your usual brand of self deprecation, especially not tonight. Being funny is no excuse, either."

"So you do think I'm funny."

"I just refuse to laugh at your self loathing jokes any longer."

"No positive reinforcement for my negativity. Understood."

"I fail to see how my laughter is a positive."

"Now who's being self abusive?"

"Well…fair enough." Gord kissed along his chin. His lips descended Tad's neck. He could feel every swallow, every twitch, could feel him moan before he heard it.

Tad clutched the fabric of Gord's shirt. He inched it upward, smooth fabric itching at his stomach. Gord sat upright. Straddling Tad's hips, he took the shirt between his fingertips. It eased over his head, slipping into a small heap on the mattress.

Tad sucked in a quick breath. His fingers stretched out just long enough to tremble and fall away again. Gord collected his wrist, brought his hand to his mouth, kissed each fingertip until Tad's face warmed once more.

"You're allowed to touch me, you know."

"I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Generally, Tadpole, when people screw, they have to touch each other."

The bridge of Tad's nose creased for a brief moment. "I don't think you're going to be interested in touching me once you undress me."

"And I think I already told you that we're done with the low self esteem for the night. Trust me, if I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be here."

His words seemed not to offer much consolation to Tad. "I know," He finally said. It wasn't quite a whisper, but it was hardly more substantial than that. "I just really want you to want…"

"Want you?"

"Yes."

"That's a wasted desire. I already do."

"I'm nothing like what you're attracted to."

Gord scoffed. He rolled his hips down against Tad's. "Do you not feel that? Obviously I'm very attracted to you." He decided not to chide him for the continued self doubt. After seventeen years of training to hate everything he was, Gord knew one night wouldn't erase all of that.

"Gord!"

"What?"

"That's…you're so obscene sometimes."

"You're actually chastising me for being obscene?"

"Well, you're the sophisticated one. I'm the new money trash with the wrong accent."

"Being so self-aware is probably a touch unhealthy for your psyche, darling."

"Like you aren't just as guilty."

Gord heard the way his words tapered off, though, and could see how his eyes kept drifting down his chest. He grabbed one of Tad's hands, leading it to his skin. Tad's fingers quivered against him, and Gord couldn't help but exhale softly, eyelids drifting lower. "It's okay," He insisted.

"I just don't want to hurt you."

Gord might have laughed any other time. "You won't hurt me." Honestly, the idea of hands shaking so thoroughly, and eyes so exhaustingly devoted, hurting him was beyond amusing. It was tragic, really, that he'd even think himself capable.

"Are you sure?"

"Well, I don't mind it a bit rough," He said, smiling crookedly. His voice softened. "You're fine. Everything is fine, Tad. Unless you'd like to stop." His body strained against his words, but Gord spoke them anyway.

But god, did he want Tad. His need had built so slowly that he hadn't realized until now how much his stomach had knotted in half-nervous desire. His cock throbbed against his silken undergarments, the legs of his trousers suddenly much too constricting. He kissed him against, fully against the lips, as both of Tad's hands nervously explored his chest.

"No," Tad mumbled. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm so nervous."

Gord could hardly remember him not being nervous. He decided not to comment on it, though.

"I've been nervous before, too," Gord lied. Perhaps it wasn't a full bodied lie. But he couldn't remember ever being so frantic and desperate in his delivery.

He certainly couldn't ever remember going this slow.

He couldn't believe his own patience.

"Somehow I doubt it."

"Because I'm such a picture of mental health and self-adulation?"

"No."

"Wow, way to insult your boyfriend, Spencer. Impeccable tact."

Tad rolled his eyes. His hands briefly steadied, thumbs rotating over Gord's nipples. Gord bit the corner of his mouth to keep from exhaling too loudly, from expressing too much delight, despite hypocritically hoping he'd be able to urge every sound imaginable from Tad. "You have a nasty habit of contradicting your narcissism with–stop making me talk like a textbook when I'm trying to get laid, Vendome!"

The flipping in dialogue between poise and teenage vulgarity was comfortably worn into their talk, but it rarely failed at eliciting a smile from Gord. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember smiling quite this much while partially undressed with a partner before.

It seemed keeping the tone light eased Tad into things, at least. Gord felt him tense as he began to glide his own shirt upward. His breathing grew heavier, a dull sort of desperation clouding his thoughts with every bit of skin revealed. He wanted to consume every inch of him. Undress him and revel in every part of him.

Maybe he was thinking too deeply about this. Mostly, he just wanted to fuck his brains out. God knew Tad could use it.

God knew Gord could use it, too.

"What's wrong, Tad? Do you have an embarrassing tattoo you're trying to hide?"

"What? No. I'm just, um…"

"Afraid I'll be stricken with jealousy by your abs? Too late." He stopped, brushing his fingertips over the muscles of his abdomen. "If I had this body, I'd never wear a top."

"First off, your body is so much better than mine. Let's not kid ourselves. Second off, I'm a patchwork mess."

"Third off, you'd like to thank me and allow me to finish undressing you. Really, that's the only point you should have made."

"I just don't want to see how disappointed you are," Tad mumbled.

Gord hadn't realized one could feel so sad while simultaneously feeling so turned on. His arousal felt like a betrayal, though it had nothing to do with how briefly despaired Tad appeared. "I'm not going to be disappointed."

"Yes. You are. I'm disappointed every time I see it. I don't see how you wouldn't be."

Gord took a deep breath, and exhaled, simultaneously releasing the tight hold he'd had on his gut. He waited for Tad's eyes to close off, his expression to lose its veneer of delight. "Well, if you aren't disappointed in me, and how much weight I've gained, I doubt very much-"

"What are you talking about? What weight?"

"No need to be polite."

"When have I ever been polite?"

"Dinner parties, while kissing up to Derby, in polite societ–"

"I've always been honest with you, Gord."

"And you're always much nicer in tone to me than you are most other people. Or did you not expect me to notice?"

"Because I like you, and fuck everyone else. I mean, I haven't fucked everyone else. I mean fuck in the…you know. The other sense."

"But you see how that makes you biased. My point, however, is that if you haven't been disappointed in what you've seen–and god help me, I hope I'm right in assuming that–then why on Earth would I be disappointed in you?" As he finished saying it, the last scrap of cloth gave. He tossed Tad's shirt away, eyes fixed on his face triumphantly, before finally allowing himself to look over him.

Tad's arms had fallen down to the bed, and Gord saw them clench tightly with the urge to fold over himself.

His chest was more scarred than he'd imagined. Of course, it made sense, given his operation the prior summer. Gord looked at him thoughtfully, at the discolored scar tissue that zig zagged across his skin.

It matched the scars further down. So little of his skin was unmarked. Gord's chest ached, even as he longed to see more of him. He kissed his collarbone, brushing his hands tenderly over him. "Does it hurt?"

"No. Of course not. It's just ugly."

"It's not ugly. You're not ugly. You're…" Honest speech was hard. Gord's voice stuck, the natural inclination to shut down and ignore genuine affection almost impossible to ignore. "You're beautiful."

"Oh Christ."

It was easier when Tad replied like that. Gord scoffed. "You are. Why do you always insist on contradicting me?"

"Why do you always insist on being wrong?"

"I'm practically a lawyer, Tad, and if my argument is that you're beautiful, then dammit, you're beautiful. I can get the judge and jury to agree to that, so why can't you?"

"You don't even like studying law."

"Evidence dismissed for lacking relevancy."

"You are such a dork." Tad sat upright. The kiss itself was nice, but most of Gord's fixation remained lower, on the way Tad's chest pressed against his own. As their lips parted, Gord reached down, loosening his belt and letting his pants fall off his legs. Judging by the way Tad gasped into his mouth, he could feel the bare skin of his legs radiating against his own, knew that more of their barriers had been shed.

Gord hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Tad's pants. He tensed against him, but didn't break the kiss. Instead, he lifted his hips, allowed Gord further room to begin gliding the fabric off. Tad's hips felt rounder beneath him than he was used to, or than he'd expected. The sharpness of his face and chest was virtually non-existent, but it wasn't an abrupt change. It wasn't even an unpleasant difference. Just slightly unexpected.

Having removed his trousers, he sat up long enough to look over Tad. His pale thighs, the way his kneecaps tilted inward, the occasional discoloring from old injuries.

Tentatively, Gord pressed his palm over the front of Tad's underwear. The heat of him radiated into his palm. Tad gasped, hand shooting out to grasp Gord's wrist. He waited for him to tug his hand away, but the grip loosened almost as quickly as it had formed, though he didn't draw it away. "Please just…I'm sure you're disgusted, and so am I, and I'm so sorry."

"For the love of god, Tad, you really need an orgasm. It has to be exhausting to be so neurotic all the time." His hand slid over him, cupping him completely. His hand wasn't accustomed to his shapes or softness, but he was more concerned with falling flat for Tad than any lack of arousal in himself.

After all, his erection still proudly proclaimed his own satisfaction.

Gord's other hand slid over Tad's thigh, pressing his legs apart. He kissed his navel, resting his chin against him and peeking up. Tad's lips were slightly parted, eyes wide. "You don't have to-"

"But can I?" His finger slid teasingly over him. "God, you're so hot, Tad. Are you really this wet for me?"

"Gord," Tad whimpered, and for a moment, Gord worried the terminology was too off. Had taken him out of the moment. Had reminded him of things he was already so uncomfortable with. In a strange way, Gord had been more worried about the vocabulary to use than about the parts themselves, had been concerned that he'd mislabel something critical and Tad would be too hurt and passive to correct him.

And then he moaned. It wasn't a fearful or uncomfortable moan, either, despite how nervous he still clearly was. His legs twitched further apart, just another half inch. Gord grasped the waistband of the cotton underwear, snapping it teasingly. "I take that as a yes?"

"No, I was thinking about Derby and forgot to wipe up," Tad mumbled. How he managed the sarcasm while being so breathless, Gord wasn't certain, but he certainly enjoyed it. "Who else?"

"It's very improper to get a man's hopes up, Tad." Gord tried to keep his expression serious, but he couldn't banish the smile from his face. Tad's boxers slipped down his hips in greedy tugs. Briefly, Tad's legs pressed together again, as though to keep them on, but he lifted his hips all the same as Gord slipped them down. He kissed him again, briefer, almost chaste, as Tad kicked the garments off completely. "And after you gave me this inconvenient erection, too, you don't have the courtesy of saving your pleasure for me?"

"Deal with it."

"I plan on it."

Tad's thighs clamped around his wrist as Gord's hand slid between his legs. His finger persistently ground against him, moving more on instinct and the signs of Tad's voice than any pre-existing knowledge. "If this is your way of dealing with things, then…oh, fuck," Tad whined. His head tilted to the side, and Gord tried to figure out if he was blushing out of humiliation or pleasure as his finger parted him, slipping into him.

"Vendome Enterprises: Fingerbanging Our Way to a Brighter Tomorrow."

"New family motto?" The words were disjointed, breathy, but just tangible enough. Gord's finger curled as he eased it deeper into him.

"Yes. What do you think?"

"I think…I think…I think you're…fuck, fucking, fuck, incredible, absolute impeccable motto, fuck."

"Bit excited there, hm?"

Tad's leg folded around Gord's torso. The other fell further open, knee partially bent. Gord's thumb pressed into his clit, Tad's breath fluttering and frantic.

"Fuck!"

"That's the idea." Gord pressed knuckle deep, curving upward until Tad's body arched in response.

It wasn't enough, though. One hand touching him wouldn't do. He kissed Tad's collarbone, as he eased a second finger into him. Tad's body clenched around him, tight and hot and wet and fuck Gord had never wanted to exist in another person as much as he did right then. He kissed Tad's pecs, teeth scraping over his skin. His contact grew softer, as his fingers rolled into him rhythmically. Each kiss grew more tender the more scarred Tad's skin betrayed him.

He trailed his tongue over the surgical scar, could taste Tad's sweat and feel his heart skitter its anticipation.

His name was a jumble of vowels on Tad's lips. He bit his nipple, and Tad nearly sobbed. He sucked on it, twisting his fingers just to feel how Tad's body shuddered and accommodated him, how each new brush of nerves earned another reaction.

Underexperienced boys were always so much louder. Gord couldn't wait to test the limits of Tad's vocal chords.

He kissed lower, tongue gracing his six pack, his belly button, detouring to his hipbones. Tad's fingers tangled into his hair.

"Please," He mewled. The sort of plea of a boy who wanted things he didn't know how to vocalize, who hadn't ever been loved well enough to know what things to want.

Gord settled between his legs. He bit Tad's inner thigh, sucked on him until he'd left a big enough mark. As if their entire friendship hadn't marked both of them. It was a good sort of staining, though. He licked him, faintly admiring the way Tad tasted. Felt a rush of pride that this was another sign of his affect on people, that he'd caused this desperation and need.

He teased his clit with small flicks at first, exploration not only for himself, but to determine what was comfortable for Tad, how much of this was okay. Perhaps fingers were okay, but mouths were off limits. Maybe he wanted to lose himself in this some other way.

Tad's fingers clenched in his hair. He offered his moans by way of permission.

Gord wrapped his lips around him, contoured his tongue to the shapes of his body in much the same way Tad's flexed around his fingers. His fingers beckoned within him, more stroking than thrusting.

Tad trembled against the bed. He scrambled at what little surface he was capable of claiming. The back of his heel scraped at the small of Gord's back. Gord smirked around him, humming briefly, and felt Tad's body clench around him, pulling tight and desperate.

Part of him felt cheated for being unable to watch him orgasm fully, being unable to accurately see the way his expression twisted in pleasure. But he couldn't deny how much he enjoyed feeling it instead, falling so deeply into him that his own breath managed to escape him. He kissed up his thighs, his stomach, his chest, as he eased his fingers out of him.

Tad's eyes were wide, wet, cheeks flushed. He swallowed, chest rising and falling with each desperate breath. His eyes finally locked with Gord's.

"Still think you aren't exactly what I want?" Gord probably shouldn't have looked so self satisfied. He wiped his mouth off on the back of his arm, just to further the redness of Tad's face.

"I can't think anything at all right now."

"I figured that would help get you out of your mind."

"Mind, pants, what's the difference? I'm out of it all right now."

They kissed as though either could shatter at a moment's notice. Soft and fleeting and tender.

Gord tried to remember the last time anything had felt as valuable as this.

Then he decided to take his own advice and stop thinking much at all for the rest of the evening, because honestly, he had a sexy boyfriend to continue defiling. Why on earth should he waste the evening philosophizing?


End file.
